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This week marked the end of an era for our house, my eldest has finished primary school marking the end of 7 years and the start of a totally new adventure.
The school had planned a ton of fun stuff to see out the class of 2023 in style and it was all building up to the final day where there would be a leaver’s assembly and a chance to say the final farewells.
Social media has been flooded with gushing posts about kids finishing the school year, I’ve lost count of the number of side-by-side photos comparing day one of school to the final day of school.
Mine was notably absent, there has been no end-of-year declaration until now because my household is a hotbed of sickness, temperatures, and the pox!
I was woken up at 4 am on my son’s last day to a scene that was reminiscent of the exorcist. This hell continued until about 4 pm.
To top it off the evening before early-morning-projectile-vomit-gate my youngest had a rather suspect spot on her back – it doesn’t take Poirot to recognise chickenpox, but I wanted to leave it overnight just to be sure (and to remain in denial just a little bit longer that there would be no nursery for at least 2 weeks.)
This chickenpox denial lasted until the youngest woke me up at 3 am with a temperature and 4 more spots that she rather cutely refers to as her chicken pops.
Shit!
So while everyone else was celebrating the end-of-year fun, I was running up and down the stairs cleaning up the sick of one child and administering calamine lotion to the other.
My eldest has taken missing the last day remarkably well. I know he’s gutted that he’s missed out on it, but even when I suggested that he go in anyway, he told me that he shouldn’t do that because it wouldn’t be fair to the other kids. Thus proving to me yet again that 1. He’s so ready for secondary school, and 2. He’s a much better parent than me!
We all place so much emphasis on these milestones that when they don’t go to plan it can feel totally shit.
Right now we’re entering the summer holidays looking like we’ve been hit by a zombie Apocalypse (especially the chicken pox ridden littlest) and I just know in my bones that this sickness is going to take us all down one by one!
It’s most definitely not an ideal start to the summer holiday, but you just can’t help certain situations, no matter what you were planning or hoping for. If a shitstorm is destined there’s nothing you can do except ride the shitstorm and hope for the best!
I’m going to take a leaf out of Frank’s book because if he’d listened to me and gone to school for his last day he would be forever remembered as the boy who projectile vomited all over his classmates.
Instead, he’s remembered as the boy who won the award for most likely to be the next David Attenborough!
